Bitter Sweet (12 page)

She remembered the neighbor who’d
told her Sadie had no children. “Sadie doesn’t have anyone else who might have
been next in line for an inheritance?”

“We haven’t found any relatives.
It looks like we’re stuck on this one.”

Sam stared at the middle of her
kitchen table, unable to think what to suggest next.

“Well, I better get home. It’s
been a long day,” he said. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

She had intended to tell him
about her new bakery employee but that seemed a trivial thing now. She glanced
into the living room where Kelly was well into some other reality show, another
one that held no appeal for Sam. She decided to wash her face and get ready for
bed.

Sleep eluded her for a long time
as she thought back over the day—her discovery that Sadie Gray’s house was
completely empty, the visit to Casa Serenita and what they’d learned about
Marshall Gray’s financial picture, followed by the dramatic way the feds had
taken him into custody as he was trying to leave the country. She felt like she
was missing something, some vital clue that she ought to have picked up.

She rolled over in bed and saw
the wooden box sitting on her dresser, merely a dark block in the moonlight
which filtered through her curtains. As the clock numerals clicked past 12:30
she sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the box.

“Give me some answers,” she
whispered as she balanced it on her palms.

The box took on a soft golden
glow but no ideas popped into Sam’s head. She set it back on the dresser after
a couple minutes, afraid that prolonged contact would energize her to the point
where she would never sleep. Pulling the sheet up over her shoulders, she
closed her eyes and willed herself to relax.

Sam found herself walking the
downtown Plaza in the early morning, the air cool against her face, the
sidewalks
uncrowded
. A clear sky highlighted the
shapes of the old adobe buildings and big urns of flowers gave off a heady
scent. Shops were beginning to open and a few people were standing in front of
the La Fonda Hotel, perhaps tourists gathering to meet their bus and leave for
their next destination. She needed to pass them but the crowd grew and filled
the sidewalk as she approached. ‘The lawyer told me to meet him here’ said one
old woman. ‘No, dearie, it was the priest. You’re confused’ another one
answered. Sam excused herself and started to walk between them. ‘You’re both
confused’ said a white-haired man with a raspy voice. ‘It’s the same guy. I
tell you, the very same.’ The three of them closed in around her, arguing ever
louder, and Sam couldn’t find a clear path down the otherwise empty sidewalk.

When she finally used her arms to
drive a wedge through, she woke to find herself tangled in the sheet. Her pillow
was hot and her face felt sweaty. When she tried to make sense of the dream it
vanished. She threw the sheet off and sat up, pulling at her nightshirt and
trying to draw some cooler air toward her body. The bedside clock said 1:39.

“Argh—” she moaned, despairing of
getting a decent night’s sleep at all. Her eyelids felt heavy but her heart was
racing.
The strange places my mind goes in the night.

*

She arrived at the bakery at five
o’clock, out of sorts and sleep-deprived. She’d barely had time to brew a pot
of coffee when she heard the distinctive rumble of Julio’s motorcycle outside.

Okay, Sam, don’t run the new
guy off by being a grump on his first full day
.

She forced a smile and set him to
work mixing three flavors of muffins. She stirred up glazes while he cut scones
and the muffins baked. She discovered that Julio knew his way around a kitchen
effortlessly and that they worked together well as a team. Once she had showed
him the recipes for each of the specialty breads, he took the lead with those,
leaving her to handle the complex decorating jobs.

Midweek. A slow day for wedding
or shower deadlines. Those always crowded around the weekends. So, when Beau
called just before six and said he was catching a ten o’clock flight to Vegas
and would she come along . . . well, she didn’t really have an excuse.

“It’s just for the day, and don’t
get your hopes up about any casinos or shows,” he said. “We’ll be on the six
o’clock coming home tonight because I’ve got a desk full of cases that you
wouldn’t believe.”

She laughed. “If I were
interested in casinos, I would surely stop at one of the dozen or more between
here and the airport. There’s no reason to go to Nevada for that.”

“Good. I’ll book your ticket and
pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

She used the time to brief the
bakery staff, who all assured her they could handle things for a day, and to
make sure her shirt wasn’t covered in flour and that her hair looked reasonably
good.

When Beau coasted to a stop in
front of the bakery, she felt like a schoolgirl playing hooky.

“So, I’m guessing there are some
new leads on Ted O’Malley?” she asked as they reached the highway.

“Las Vegas PD called early this
morning. Their surveillance team say they’ve spotted O’Malley at his wife’s
house. Well, I guess it’s probably technically his house too. They called me
because all they were told was to watch for the guy. They don’t know the case
or what questions to ask him.” He paused to concentrate on passing a slower
vehicle on the curvy road.

“This has been quite the week for
out of town cases,” Sam said.

“Yeah, normally ninety-nine
percent of my work takes place right here in the county. That’s why I thought
you might like the little jaunt out of town, even if it isn’t exactly the
romantic getaway we first talked about.” He reached across the console and
squeezed her hand.

“That’s okay. You just happened
to catch me on probably the one day this week that I could actually do this.
Plus, I’m kind of eager to see how this turns out. Not every day I meet a
bigamist. What will you do if you catch him?”

“Take him into custody first.
Then I’m not sure which state is going to prevail—Nevada where his legal
residence is, or New Mexico where he committed the act of bigamy. Prosecuting
attorneys may have to argue that one out. If he has to be brought back here for
a trial, it may mean another trip back for me to pick him up. I guess I’ll deal
with it when it happens.”

Two hours later they parked at
the Albuquerque airport and by noon they were walking off the plane in Las Vegas,
Sam realizing that her black slacks would be a big disadvantage in the desert
heat. A police officer met them as they left the secure area and paved the way
through the crowds who parted like the Red Sea at the sight of two tall,
authoritative men in uniform. The officer, who introduced himself as
Ruskovik
, led them straight to the curb where he’d left his
official vehicle with lights
strobing
.

“There are a few perks to this
job,” he said with a grin as he opened the back door for Sam.

He started the cruiser and did a
quick radio call.

“Our guys watching the house
haven’t seen O’Malley leave, so it’s assumed he’s still there. Is Sam coming
along on the apprehension?”

“She’s the only one of us who has
actually seen him face-to-face, so I’m counting on her to verify that he really
is the man who was married to that woman in Taos.”

So, there really was a reason for
her to come along. Who knew?

They drove through what seemed to
Sam an impossible tangle of streets before they actually left the airport
property. It had been years since her last visit to the city and things had
changed drastically.
Ruskovik
cruised easily through
neighborhoods that became increasingly drab. He made another quick radio call,
loaded with code numbers, then turned onto a street that Sam would characterize
as upper lower-class—cinderblock homes with flat roofs, dirt yards that served
as parking pads, thirsty-looking palm trees about every third or fourth house.
This was home to the guy who talked like a Frenchman and showed up in classy
restaurants in a tux?

“Here we are,”
Ruskovik
said, pointing to the house just east of where
he’d pulled to the curb. “That plain car down the street is ours and there’s
another on the block behind the house. Sam should probably wait here, until we
know there’s not going to be any trouble.”

He stepped out and invited Sam to
take the front seat, left the engine running and the air conditioning on. He
and Beau straightened their shoulders, looking official. They strode up the
cracked sidewalk.
Ruskovik
climbed the two steps to a
tiny porch. Beau waited at the sidewalk, watching the windows. Sam couldn’t see
any action there. She heard the officer’s firm knock on the hollow wood door.

“Theodore O’Malley,” he called
out. “Police. Open the door.”

The door opened a few inches and
Sam could see a woman’s face, looking upward at the tall policeman and speaking
words that Sam couldn’t hear. After about thirty seconds she opened the door
wide and stepped aside. Beau and the other officer went into the house, stayed
about three minutes and Beau returned.

“He’s not here,” Beau said. “You
might as well come in. Maybe you can help get Debbie O’Malley to talk.”

The front door opened directly
into a living room that was surprisingly neat, based on what Sam had guessed
from the neighborhood. Real hardwood floors spoke to the age of the home. The
walls were painted a pale cream, and the blue upholstered couch and side chair
were old but clean. A bookshelf beside the small television set held stacks of
paperback romances. A window unit cooled the air to a tad less than what it was
outside.

“I don’t know where Ted is,”
Debbie was saying when Sam walked in. Her voice sounded tired and Sam got the
feeling the woman said this a lot.

Debbie O’Malley wore a ’50s-style
waitress uniform, gray dress, white trim, white apron with a coffee stain
dribbled down the front. Her brown hair was pinned away from her face with two
plastic barrettes and was badly in need of a trim. Beau had said she married
Ted right out of high school, which would put her age at about forty-five but
it was a very worn-out forty-five. She had a lot of hard hours on her thin
frame.

“I just got home ten minutes ago.
I got stuck with a night shift and had to stay over this morning cause Glenda
never showed. Lucky my mom wanted to take the kids. Not that a
fourteen-year-old needs a sitter but I won’t leave him in charge of my
six-year-old overnight. Since Kyra got it in her head to move to L.A. and try
acting school . . . What was I thinking, having the three of ’
em
so spread out?”

She muttered this last bit as she
kicked off her shoes and pulled the barrettes from her hair. She blew out a
breath that made her bangs flutter. “So, what’s Ted done now?”

“It looks like he’s married
another woman,” Beau said.

“Well, damn.” Debbie didn’t
appear horrified by this news. “Can I get off my feet?” She motioned for the
visitors to take seats and she flopped into the armchair and put her feet up on
a small stool. Sam sat on the sofa but the men remained standing.

“Has Ted been home recently?”
Beau asked. “Please be truthful. Officers have had the house staked out for a
couple of days.”

Debbie’s eyes rolled. “Damn, I
can’t believe how clueless I am.” She jumped up from the chair, went to the
shelf and pulled out a novel titled
Unforgiving Love
. Shaking the book,
she started to sob.

“That son of a bitch, he’s done
it again,” she said, letting the tears roll as she clutched the book to her
chest and sank into the chair again.

“I
wish’t
the bastard would just stay away. I don’t know why I always take him back.”

“When was he here?” Sam asked,
keeping her voice gentle.

“Monday night he showed up.
Brought the kids presents. They got so excited. Brought me this.” She held up
her wrist to show an old fashioned gold bracelet. Sam guessed that it probably
had belonged to Lila Coffey. She tried hard not to let her face reveal
anything.

“When did he leave?” Sam asked,
scooting closer to Debbie, keeping her voice soft.

Debbie’s shoulders slumped. “I
don’t know. He was here last night when I left for work. Been watching sports
on TV all day and
drinkin
beer, like he always does.
I got the house all cleaned up and I told him he just better not make a big
mess.” She glanced around. “So, I suppose he left right after I did. Otherwise,
there’d be beer cans all over the damn place.”

Sam glanced up at
Ruskovik
, who looked a little chagrined. Somehow Ted had
crept out in the dark and gotten past the surveillance team.

“I
shoulda
knowed
it when he showed up with the presents,”
Debbie said, staring toward the middle of the room. “Usually he’s flat broke
and I know to guard my money. But this time he seemed so happy and
relaxed-like. He flashed a little cash around, took us out for tacos. I thought
he’d really been working
somewheres
, like he said.”

She held up the paperback book.
“I
knew
I
shoulda
hid my money better. He
always gets the cookie jar and last time he found that cottage cheese container
on the kitchen shelf. How could I know he’d actually open a book? There was
five hundred dollars in there. I’d saved it up to put us a deposit on a bigger
place, a nice apartment in one of those buildings with a pool. Me and the kids
are pretty crowded in here, just the one bedroom and all. I’m not whining, I
just want something nicer for them.” Her face watered up.

Sam looked up at Beau in
disbelief. O’Malley was clearly a first-class jerk, taking Debbie’s little
stash after cleaning out all of Lila’s money as well.